


Build Me Up

by Chash



Category: The Song of the Lioness - Tamora Pierce, Tortall - Tamora Pierce
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-24
Updated: 2016-05-24
Packaged: 2018-06-10 09:20:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6950359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chash/pseuds/Chash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>George was worried enough about gentrification in his neighborhood even before the Trebond Corporation decided to open up a hotel. Luckily, a stranger wants to help him fight the power.</p>
<p>And she's cute, too. As a bonus.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Build Me Up

**Author's Note:**

> Giveaway fic for [fanfeminist](http://fanfeminist.tumblr.com/), who wanted George and Alanna with neighbors and misunderstandings. I kind of got there? Mostly I was sort of vaguely inspired by You've Got Mail. But not really. Things happened, per usual.

In a way, George thinks the most miraculous thing is that they've lasted so long without anyone else trying to set up shop in the neighborhood. It's been coming for a while, since the area started getting gentrified. He knew sooner or later, someone would realize there was money to be made offering lodgings, and they'd get to work on driving him out.

The Dancing Dove has been in George's family for years, but it's never been a cash cow or anything. It makes more money as a local watering hole than it does as an inn, for all it's clean and fairly good lodging, but it doesn't make that much as either. It's just not in a place most people want to visit, if he's honest. It's close to the city, but the neighborhood's always been bad, and even if the Dove itself has some charm, it takes a certain type to be willing to stay here.

It's always been enough to keep George afloat, and to keep him satisfied. He has obligations to his staff and his family, and he does his best to fulfill them. So long as he can do that, he's content.

They all worried when the new stores started moving in. It's the kind of thing that's good for them in the short-term, but will go bad if it goes on. Rent will go up, and they'll be driven out by newer, richer places. It's not for sure, but for every person who wants to support a real local business, there are five more who don't actually know what that means, who will value low costs over independent merchants.

So when Marek comes in and says, "I was right, we're getting construction in," George isn't even a little surprised.

"Being as there's always construction, I assume you mean something relevant to us."

"They finally started gutting the old arcade building," Marek says. "The sign's doing its best to not draw attention to the developers, saying it's _luxury accommodations_ coming in. But I saw the Trebond corporate logo on the bottom, so don't start thinking it's an even playing field."

"Never do," says George. He rubs his jaw. He knows about the Trebond Corporation, of course. One of their giant hotels wouldn't fly in a place like this, but he's not surprised they see it as an untapped market. Something smaller, more exclusive--yeah, he can see it. "I can't say I didn't see it coming. We may be able to survive the competition, if the neighborhood keeps getting more popular."

"If the neighborhood keeps getting popular, they won't want us," Rispah points out.

"Are you saying we're not fancy enough?" George asks her, mild. "I'm plenty fancy, thanks all the same."

"Don't act like you're not worried, we know you are," says Marek. "We all are. None of these folks want a genuine experience like ours, not when they can have what they think of as a genuine experience with more perks for a higher price."

"So we'll charge more," George says. "Twist my arm."

But like Marek said, he's fooling no one, and he knows it. It's trouble, and he knows his people are worried for their jobs and their futures. It's not that he doesn't think the neighborhood could support two inns, but he knows the old arcade building. It's large, probably even large enough to take everyone who wants to stay here. He can be cheaper, but that's only a draw for some people. The kinds of folks who are coming in now like to pay more for--something. He doesn't know what, exactly. 

More than that, he knows corporations like this. They'll want to drive him out, and he'll do his best not to let them, but he doesn't know how much of a chance he has. In his own neighborhood, on his own turf, he feels sure. But this is a kind of fight he doesn't know how to have, a kind of fight that's unfamiliar. Defending the neighborhood from gentrification isn't something he knows how to do; he's been working most of his life to make it this better place to live, and now that others are taking notice and driving out the people whose lives he wanted to improve, he's not sure how to get them back.

He doesn't think he's done wrong, but he wishes he knew how to do right.

"It is a nice place you've got," someone remarks.

George startles; he hadn't realized anyone else was around. He recognizes Alanna Naxon, who's subletting an apartment in his building, sliding onto a stool. She's comes in to drink fairly often, but he hasn't gotten much of a read on yet, doesn't know why she's here or how long she's staying. For all she's young and well-dressed, she doesn't come across as one of the bad sort, someone who's here to move in and take the neighborhood apart. He likes her, and he's used to trusting his instincts.

"Kind of you to say," he says, nodding to her. "Sorry to make you listen to our complaining. Did you need a drink?"

Marek and Rispah must not have noticed her either, because both of them find reasons to be somewhere else almost at once. If Alanna notices, she doesn't seem bothered. She just offers him a smile. "I wouldn't mind one. The IPA?"

"Of course." He pours her a pint and slides it over. "Anything else I can get you? Hungry?"

She taps her finger against the rim of the glass. "How is it?"

"The food? You keep coming back, so I assume it's good."

"The neighborhood. Sorry, I didn't mean to eavesdrop."

"Ah, of course not. When I don't mean to eavesdrop, I always lurk in dark corners not saying anything while other people are talking."

As he hoped, Alanna flashes a grin. "I'm glad you understand. A total accident."

"Complete."

"But honestly, I was curious. So--how bad is it?"

"The neighborhood?"

"Yeah. It seems--okay, so far."

"So far," he agrees. "Rent's going to get worse and worse, and from what I've heard, the Trebond Corporation's specialty is driving away independent competition."

"All true." Alanna sips her drink. "So, what are you going to do about it?"

"Why the sudden interest?" he asks, mild. It doesn't bother him, exactly, he supposes it could be a curiosity to her, but--it is a little strange. He wouldn't expect outsiders to care much, and even if he didn't read Alanna as just another hipster, that doesn't mean she wants to hear about the neighborhood's plight.

"It's not sudden," Alanna says. She considers him. "Part of why I came here is because I heard a rumor the Trebond Corporation was thinking of moving into the neighborhood."

"Very noble of you," he says. "Now that you know it's true, what are you going to do?"

"That depends on you." When she meets his eyes, hers are blazing, strong and fierce. They're _purple_ , and he couldn't look away if he wanted to. "Are you going to fight this?"

"What? Trebond? Gentrification? The entire world?"

"Start with the first, go to the third, sure."

"I won't roll over and lose my home," he says. "I'm not planning on going anywhere."

"That's what I thought. I'm--kind of a consultant. I want to help."

"I don't want to pay you, but thanks all the same."

"No charge."

"Just out of the goodness of your heart?"

"Of course not. Goodness has nothing to do with it." Her grin is all teeth. "I want the Trebond Corporation to fail, and I think this is the place they'll do it. Especially if I help."

"Huh." George taps his jaw. "I don't believe you."

"What, you think I'm just a selfless philanthropist who wants to make the world a better place? It's entirely spite, I assure you."

He laughs. "Well, I certainly believe you don't just want to be nice. But I think there's more to it than what you're telling me."

"So you don't want my help?"

"I don't know what you're offering," he says. "But I'd be open to finding out." He's always had a good feeling about her, and he trusts his gut when it comes to people. He liked her yesterday, and he still likes her today.

Alanna grins. "That's what I was hoping you'd say."

*

The next day, Alanna arrives with her laptop, which is full of data on the Trebond Corporation.

"You really did your homework," George says, even, regarding her out of the corner of his eye. She's a good few years younger than he is, probably only recently out of college. Must be rich, if she's crusading for underprivileged neighborhoods. Most of the people who live here couldn't afford to put this kind of time and energy into a project like this, and it actually concerns their lives and their futures.

"Know your enemy," says Alanna. "The problem is that Trebond is richer than you are."

"You don't say."

She grins, and a little more tension uncoils. She thinks he's funny; that's something. "It was a surprise to me too. I assumed you were an eccentric billionaire doing this for fun."

"Probably would be," he says. "I've never been good at being idle."

"So, like you said, Trebond specializes in driving out local business. They have a very specific business model, and it's hard to beat."

"Huh," says George, coming to lean in next to her at the computer. "And what is that?"

"Most of the time, when you're opening a business, you take losses the first year. Waiting on word of mouth and such. Independent business owners have to care about that; a corporation like Trebond doesn't. They don't need to stay afloat the first year. They plan on losing money."

"So I'll be doing better the first year, and then it gets worse?"

"No, you won't be doing well either."

"Ah, so Alan Trebond is one of those people who wants to make everyone else miserable with him," he says, nodding, and Alanna snorts. "Charming."

"He's going to be dirt cheap. Or--" She drums her fingers on the laptop. "He'll offer a greater variety of rooms at a greater variety of prices. Here, if you look at this--" 

He leans in to check the spreadsheet; it's a list of recent businesses Trebond has opened up. They don't just do hotels, as he knew; he'll expect a restaurant too, if they like the place. There will be something in the hotel already, something to compete with his little pub, but they're going to settle the neighborhood. It's what they _do_. Colonizers.

"The price range for the first year is _huge_ ," says Alanna. "They'll undercut you with the cheapest rooms, but still offer a few _luxury_ options. Of course they're better rooms, so it's not as if it's a rip-off. But they'll make themselves a better option across the board, and charge less for everything than they will once you're out of business."

"I'm flattered they're putting in such an effort," George says, but he's still staring at the computer. The prices _are_ low, and he knows the Trebond place will be nice. That's all he's got going for him; affordable enough for most folks, but nicer than the motels and youth hostels. He's competition in a way places like that won't be, and he's the one they're going to care about. "So, what can I do about it? So far all I've got is trying to play-up being a local business."

"That's a good place to start. You don't brag much about your food."

"No. It doesn't tend to get us much business, just the locals. You think it's good enough we could make a go of it as a restaurant? I assume Trebond can afford a better cook than old Solom, but I wouldn't tell him that."

"It's good enough. Trebond's hotels are--they're not quite cookie-cutter, but they're close. He'll get a few local beers on tap and call it a day. The food is fine, but they've got a captive audience for that. He won't be trying to distinguish himself with that. You can do a better job of offering--" Her face screws up, as if the words pain her. "He's trying to create an _experience_ , but it's the same one every time. You can do better at that. I don't know if you can beat them," she admits. "But I think you can survive them."

"And that's why you're here? To help keep me afloat with my genuine local dining experience?"

"I'm here for spite," she says, bright. "I keep telling you. But Solom makes a great bowl of macaroni and cheese. I don't want the world to lose that."

George snorts. "Well, when you put it like that. Can't blame anyone for going to bat for Solom's mac and cheese. I've been told it's life-changing."

"And that's exactly what we need to leverage for you. You've got a good business here, George. I think we can make it work."

"That's awful heartwarming for someone who claims to just be doing this for spite," he teases.

"No spite for you," she says, cheerful. "I'm happy to give you the credit you deserve."

"Much appreciated. Were you hoping to get a bowl of that mac and cheese while you explain to me what I'm going to do to survive?"

"It's the least you can do," she says, with a smile. "Since I'm not charging you."

"I was planning to make you pay for the food."

"Naturally. You're not running a charity here."

"I'm running a _local experience_ ," he teases.

"Now you're getting it. Get me that mac and cheese and I'll show you what I'm thinking of."

*

While a great deal of his focus is on the actual planning they're doing, George can't help trying to figure out Alanna Naxon. It's not, as Marek says, that it's been too long since he shared his bed with anyone; it has been some time, that's true enough, but his curiosity about Alanna isn't only sexual, or even only romantic.

She's _interesting_ , and he likes interesting people. 

As he thought, she's twenty-three, a year out of college. She went to Yale, which explains what she's doing in Providence, but not really what she's doing _here_. When he asks what she does during the day, she tells him she works for a living, the same as him. And it checks out, at least for the timeline; when he drags himself out of bed to go jogging some mornings, he'll see her going in to work, and she usually comes by the Dove when she's done, sometime between five and six most days. Her dress is business casual, but all she says about her job is that she works in an office, it's boring, and she hates it, and she's looking for something else.

"So that's why," George said, when she first told him as much. "You're leaving the job, but keeping the neighborhood."

"If the neighborhood hires me," she said, with a shrug.

"It'd be easier if any of us knew what you did," he pointed out, and she smiled, raised her glass.

"That would be telling."

Marek doesn't trust her, but Marek doesn't trust anyone. His ma likes her, and so does Solom, and Rispah thinks she's cute. He's not sure any of them think it's a good idea, his listening to her opinions on the Dove, but none of them has any better suggestions. The renovations on the arcade building are moving along quickly, and even Marek can't argue that they need any help Alanna can give them.

And George is getting used to having her around, even aside from that. She's sharp in all his favorite ways, intelligent and prickly, quick-tempered. Fun to wind up, but she doesn't hold a grudge about it. She's not terribly chatty, but he picks up she has a brother who does computer things, her mother is dead, and she doesn't get along with her father. She has a group of pretty close friends from college, most of whom have moved to New York.

It doesn't sound like she's interested in going there, and George has to approve.

He doesn't know how to move beyond a professional relationship with her, and that's a shame. She'll spend time at the bar in the Dove, but he's working, so it's not the same as being friendly.

A few months in, Alanna must have the same thought, because she shows up to his apartment after work on a Wednesday, one of his usual off nights.

"To what do I owe the honor? Don't tell me you egged the Trebond site. Not without me."

She laughs. "Is that really your first guess? Egging?"

"I assume that's the level of vandalism you get in the Ivy League. Nothing too risky."

"And toilet paper, of course. Aren't you going to invite me in?"

"I didn't know you wanted to come," he says. "By all means. I didn't think we had plans tonight."

"We didn't. I was talking to Jon--my best friend--and he was going out to do things, and I thought--I should do things too."

George very nearly asks if she's planning to do _him_ , but it doesn't feel like the right time for that yet. He's not sure she's the type to appreciate that kind of joking. Or that kind of serious offer, come to that.

"And you just assumed I'd be here with no plans of my own?"

"I'm not wrong, was I?" But her smile is a little shy. "I thought I would try your door before I went to the Dove. I know you're off on Wednesday, but I thought maybe you did something else with your time."

"On occasion, but not tonight. I was just reading."

"Reading?" she asks.

"I can read, you know."

"I just don't know a lot of people who spend their evenings reading."

"It's what I do most evenings. Don't have a TV, and you know how I am with my computer. If Rispah or Marek doesn't have a better idea, I tend to keep to myself. Not that I mind your company," he adds, when it looks like she's going to apologize. "But I don't have much to offer, by way of entertainment."

She closes her mouth, thinks it over. "Do you like board games?"

"Nearly lost an eye playing Monopoly with Rispah when we were kids. So--no, I guess I don't."

Alanna laughs. "I have better board games than Monopoly. Do you want to try?"

"So long as you don't gouge my eyes out," he says, and she grins. 

"I think that won't be a problem."

She brings over something called _Lords of Waterdeep_ , which is more complicated than anything he ever called a board game, but he finds he likes it. And even if the game itself were terrible, he'd still be thrilled to be spending time with Alanna, with no talk at all of plots or advertising or triumphing over big business. Not that he doesn't enjoy that too, but it's his hope that even once she stops helping him, they'll have nights like this.

"You have any other games like that?" he asks her, when they're cleaning up.

"Plenty," she says. "Same time next week?"

"Love to."

*

It becomes a tradition, board games on his off night, and considering that Marek sometimes joins them, George just assumes that his friend has accepted her. After all, she's _helping_. She upgraded their website and got some hip reviewers to come in and talk about how the Dove is an _undiscovered gem_. It's the kind of thing he would have worried about, before the Trebond hotel, because that kind of attention seemed dangerous. But they're getting that kind of attention anyway, and he's sure Alanna knows the right places to get it. He doesn't really get the internet, but Rispah says there are think-pieces about gentrification using them as an example, and she seems to think that's a good thing. Alanna's computer geek brother is running their social media on the side, which means he posts specials to Twitter and Facebook and weird images that make no sense to George to Tumblr.

It all seems to the good to him, so when Marek comes in about six months after Alanna entered their lives and says, "I knew it! I knew we couldn't trust her!" he doesn't take it very seriously.

"Who?"

"Alanna! Do you know who she is?"

"I get the feeling the answer you're expecting is no."

"I saw her _at the Trebond site_ ," says Marek, and that is a surprise. "On a tour with some bigwigs. I googled _Alanna Trebond_ , and _that's who she is_." He shows George his phone, and, well--George in theory knew that Alan Trebond had children. That his wife was dead. But he'd never thought that much about the man himself, because he didn't care. It's never mattered much to him, what the man does when he's not trying to drive away local businesses.

But it makes a lot of sense, now that he's seeing articles about Alan Trebond's daughter, Alanna. Graduated from Yale, class of 2015. Twin brother, Thom. Friends with Jonathan Conte, who does live in New York. She works for the Trebond Corporation, and he expects that she hates it.

Nothing she's told him isn't true, aside from her last name.

"I don't see why that means we can't trust her," he says, slow. He understands why Marek is worried, of course, but, honestly. If anyone has cause to hate Alan Trebond and his company, it's probably his daughter. And it explains why she got invested in this in the first place. At least some. "I always did wonder why she cared so much."

"Because she's trying to sabotage us!" says Marek.

"I think we could have done that without her help," George says. He holds up his hand as Marek starts to protest. "I'll ask her, of course. But I think she's probably Alanna Trebond using us to get back at her da."

It doesn't make him feel better, saying it like that, but--she could still like him too. She doesn't have to be lying about that either, when she doesn't seem to have lied about anything else. 

"If they wanted to put us out of business, they could have done it without sending her," he continues. "And I still think it's a good thing that she's doing." He grins at Marek. "You liked that review."

"Could have been part of a plot." But he's thinking it over though, and George gives him the time to work it through on his own. Finally, he says, "You really think she's on our side? Even being Trebond's daughter?"

"Not like you like your parents. And we know her da's an asshole."

"If you're wrong and I lose my job, I'm going to punch you in the throat."

"Yeah, of course you will. That's in your contract. The right of every one of my employees."

Alanna comes by after work, same as always, and George pours her a drink. She's been lying about her name, so he doesn't want to ask her in public; it just seems polite, to give her privacy for this conversation. He might not want to be some famous asshole's kid either.

"I'm letting Marek take the bar for the night," he tells her. "You want to stay here or come drink at my place?"

"Are you asking me on a very inept date, George Cooper?" she asks. She's grinning, which makes him feel good about maybe actually asking her on a non-inept date sometime in the near future. Once they've sorted this out.

"Nah. I'm very smooth about dating. This is business."

"Business we can't do down here?" she asks. "Well, now I'm curious."

"Then come on up."

She follows him, even lets him give her a beer, before she bursts out, "Come on, what is it?"

He takes a sip of his own beer, letting her squirm for a minute. He can't help winding her up; it's so easy. "Marek saw you at the Trebond construction site today. He doesn't trust anyone, so he got suspicious. Googled Alanna and Trebond, I guess." She winces, and he grins. "Honestly, how long did you think it was going to last?"

"About a week," she says, smile wry. "But then when all of you seemed so terrible with the internet, I just assumed--"

He laughs. "Well, I never would have figured it out. I don't see why you didn't tell me, though."

"You don't?" she asks. "I'm a Trebond. That's the end of the conversation for most people here. No wonder Marek was glaring daggers at me."

"Most of that's just Marek. But--I'd been wondering what Alan Trebond did, to make you hate him so much. Had to have something personal there, to get so much spite built up. I can see how growing up with him would do it. From everything I've heard."

Alanna cocks her head at him, like she's waiting for something more. It's something he gets a lot, and as always, he says nothing. She'll break sooner or later. 

It's sooner.

"Why aren't you mad?" she snaps.

"Why would I be mad?" he asks. "Did you lie about anything else? Looks to me like you went to the school you said you went to, hate the job you said you hated. You told me about your best friend and your brother. Even told me about your da."

"You're not even making me explain myself," Alanna protests. "You're letting me off the hook yourself."

"Makes so much more sense. I don't even know how you'd be trying to screw us up."

"Bringing more business to the neighborhood, raising your rent, eventually driving you out?" she asks, but she sounds dubious.

"Does remind me of the question I've still got," he says, considering her.

"Just one?"

"I still don't get why you picked me. I guess you're working around here, but still. You can't do this everywhere you go, and this can't be your first assignment."

"No," she agrees. She takes a sip of her beer, cocks her head at him. "I liked you."

"Me?"

"Before this, I was in Hartford. There was a nice little mom and pop place we drove out of business, and I hated it, but--they were ready to retire. I made sure we bought them out with enough they'd be good, but they didn't want my help. I thought you would, and I liked the Dove." She looks down at her bottle. "I liked spending time with you."

"Don't get embarrassed about that," he says, letting his fingers slide over hers as he takes the beer and puts it on the counter. "Anything else you're not telling me?"

"Nothing I can think of."

"So, can I kiss you?"

She bites her lip, and he finally lets himself think about how much he likes that, how much he likes everything about her. He knew, of course, but--he was waiting until she seemed interested.

She seems interested now.

"Just like that?"

"Well, I think we're on the same page. Don't you?"

"Save the Dove, get rid of my da, make out?"

"Exactly."

She winds her arms around his neck. "Then, yes. You can kiss me."

Marek was right; it's been far too long. But Alanna Trebond was worth the wait.

*

She gets a new job a month before the new hotel is set to open and tries to figure out when it would be best to give notice, from a psychological perspective. 

"I think a week before."

"You think it's going to make a difference?" he asks. Now that they're officially dating, many of their conversations about strategy take place when they're naked in his bed. It's the best way to discuss strategy, as far as he's concerned. He hopes all the famous generals did it this way.

"Not a huge one," she admits. "I don't think he'll change his mind about the whole thing or anything that dramatic. But I do think it will be demoralizing for him personally."

"Mm," George agrees. "I'd be demoralized, if I was him."

"I don't know how exactly we'll get the hotel to _leave_ ," she admits. "Right now, I think the best we can do is keeping you in business, and keeping the neighborhood hostile."

"And we're certainly doing that."

She grins. "Without a doubt."

"You don't really think he'll disown you just for quitting, do you? Seems like an overreaction, if you ask me."

"My father's whole life is an overreaction. Besides, I'm working for a non-profit. That's as good as throwing my life away, according to him."

"Yeah, can't believe you want to work in education reform. What a monster."

You know poor people don't deserve to be smart or happy. If they did, they wouldn't be poor."

"Mmm, I forgot." He kisses her hair. "Explains why I'm so stupid and miserable."

"I was wondering." She closes her eyes, curls against him. She fits so nicely in his arms; he still can't believe it. "I'm sorry."

"That I'm stupid and miserable? I don't think we can blame you for the country's entire social structure. But thanks all the same."

"Ass," she says. "Not for that. I'm sorry my father is opening the hotel. I tried to talk him out of it. I did everything I could, not just working with you."

"I know you did."

"I wanted us to stop him."

"There's still time. He was never planning to shut me down before he even opened up, so why should we let him off the hook so early? I assume you're not going to stop trying. I know I'm not."

"No, but--I wanted to make him change his mind."

"You've got plenty of time to change the world, darling. I'm not worried you aren't going to. And it didn't go so poorly for me, you know."

"It didn't?" she asks, grinning. 

"Fishing for compliments, are you?" He rolls over so he's on top of her. "I'm very happy with how things ended up. Never imagined it going so well, when a bunch of hipster assholes stared invading my neighborhood, pretending they cared about local business when they just wanted to get revenge on their fathers and trick me into bed lying about their identities--"

She's laughing. "It sounds so bad when _you_ say it."

"No, it doesn't," he tells her. "It sounds perfect to me."

Her laughter softens into a smile. She's got a lovely smile, when she bothers to use it. And he doesn't mind, that he has to earn it. Or that no one else gets it as often. "Sap," she says, but pulls him down for another kiss, so he can't bring himself to mind.

Like he told her, it's going well for him.


End file.
